


never quite thought we could lose it all

by RestlessWanderings



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Badass Finn, Badass Rey, Battle, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hurt No Comfort, Kylux - Freeform, M/M, POV Alternating, Revenge, don't worry finn and rey live, finn has a lightsaber, or at least very little comfort, two guesses as to who dies, wrote this cause i hate myself and i love angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2016-11-23
Packaged: 2018-09-01 18:57:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8634178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RestlessWanderings/pseuds/RestlessWanderings
Summary: There's one final battle and it ends pretty much how you'd expect it.(or: Hux knows he's going to die. Kylo despises the distance between them. Finn is merciful. Rey knew this would happen.)





	

Ren’s coarse robes and armor fit loosely but they smell like him and Hux buries his nose into the fabric for a moment, breathing in the scent. Hux knows he’s going to die. He knows it like he knows the press of Ren’s skin against his, like he knows the feel of Ren’s hair tangled in his fingers. The knowledge is barely registered – it’s feather-light across his mind, nearly nonexistent. With every layer added, though, the feeling grows, and when he places Ren’s helmet on his head and it clicks into place he can feel it settle on him, can feel it sink down deep into his bones, into his very being.

He’s going to die.

Hux shakes himself – it’s not the Force, not some mystic power deciding his fate. No, it’s only Hux. Flesh and blood and bone and a feeling that’s buried itself into his soul. He snorts. _What a time to turn to poetry,_ he thinks, pantomiming holding a lightsaber and adjusting his stance. He moves slowly, purposefully, trying to determine how much of his intrinsic nature he’s going to have to alter to move how Ren does. The helmet is disorienting and he already hates how enclosed he feels.

The robes catch on his right arm, inhibiting movement. He scoffs but quickly adjusts, wrapping the cloth higher up on his shoulder so as not to hinder him. Running through the move again, he focuses on the way the robes hug him – they’re loose, yes, but shouldn’t cause too much trouble.

 _Not that it matters. I’m going to die._ He’s been in enough battles to trust the feeling in his gut. With a nod to himself he walks to the other side of Ren’s chambers and grabs his lightsaber. Though he shouldn’t be able to feel it’s coolness through the gloves he’s wearing, he does. Tingles race up his arms as he holds it, but there’s no hidden trap waiting. He breathes out the unknowing breath he’d been holding. There’s a peculiar feeling in the back of his mind, a vague impression of a Force bond. He glares at the weapon. Of course such a thing would be sentient enough to choose its master. Though not very sensitive to the Force himself, Hux probes at the bond and immediately winces. 

It’s a wild feeling, one that instantly accelerates his heartbeat, and his pulse is heavy in his ears. He feels warm all over and barely contained, and with the mask on it’s nearly claustrophobic. He wants, for a moment, to storm out into the hallways of the _Finalizer_ and destroy everything he sees.

He backs away from the bond and the dichotomy leaves him reeling. _No wonder Ren can barely control it._ Hux sighs and clips it to Ren’s belt. He takes a deep breath and centers himself. Then he checks the bond he has with Ren – it’s quiet, still, heavily shielded. He shakes his head. There’s no time to try and reconcile with him. There’s a chance, after all, that he might survive.

Silently, he snarls. No, there’s not, and there won’t ever be another chance to talk to Ren, but Hux is nearly Force-null and has no power whatsoever to force the shields away or to find Ren during such a tumultuous battle. _Useless,_ he thinks. _What is the point of a bond if he won’t let me communicate with him?_

Everything in him is begging him not to continue with this ruse, but he is a General and the morale of his troops, and thus the very tide of the battle, rests on his shoulders. So, when he steps out of Ren’s quarters and stalks through the halls, he allows himself to come to terms with his impending demise. It doesn’t take long. He’s been ready to die since the destruction of Starkiller Base. He arrives at the hanger with Ren’s robes flying out behind him and boards a shuttle. The stormtrooper nods but says nothing and almost immediately once the authorization to depart is granted he feels the ship take off. As he departs the _Finalizer,_ he drinks in the sight of his beloved ship one last time. He sighs. He was never meant to outlive the First Order. He was always going to die leading one last stand, a General first and foremost.

 

*

 

_One breath. Two. One. Two. In. Out._

The lightsaber glides through the air, easily splitting bodies in two. Its hum is tangible and he can feel it in his arms. It’s in the back of his head as well, coupling with his pounding pulse and the battle’s din to create something of a symphony in his mind. It’s intoxicating and he revels in it, settling into the tide of battle. It’s too fast and too slow but the rhythm is a remembered, long-mastered one, even with a new weapon. 

_In. Out. In. Out. One. Two._

Hux knows that even with the training Ren has given him, he can’t match the Knight’s style. It’s boorish yet refined, tasteless yet graceful, all hulking power and quick reflexes. Hux is far more suited to sniping, but when pressed he knows he fights defensively, drawing his assailants in and then attacking in swift, devastating blows. But the chaos of the battle works in his favor and no one notices the abrupt change in style – the Rebels only see Kylo Ren, Master of the Knights of Ren, butchering their brethren as if they were flies; the Stormtroopers see an unbeatable asset fighting on their side and thus their morale is restored and they fight with renewed vigor, turning the tide of the battle.

Hux knows it’s hopeless, and that the battle won’t end the way he wants it to, but every being deserves the belief of a justified death, and that’s enough for Hux. The last battle of the First Order will be brilliant and hard-won for the Rebels if he has any say in it. 

_In. Out. In. Out. One. Two._

He blocks a shot aimed for his heart and immediately twists, bringing the lightsaber down through a Rebel’s torso. Again he moves without fully registering the movement, parrying and thrusting, watching the Rebel’s shocked face whiten and go slack. In his mind he knows that he can’t possibly be moving as quickly as he thinks he is, and for a moment Hux wonders if the act of pretending to be Ren has given him an inkling of the Force. Hells, maybe it’s the outfit that’s magical, not the person.

He has no time to dwell on such thoughts. The symphony in his head is loud but peaceful and he centers himself in it, pausing for a moment to revel in the adrenaline, in the diamond-sharp edges of his mind. This is a dance he’s done a thousand times – years of combat training enhances Ren’s saber techniques and he feels like a twenty-something kid again, sloughing through marshes with blood on his hands and throwing the decapitated head of a Resistance leader at the feet of the last General. He’s in the heat of it, the thrall of it, and there is no where else he’d rather be.

(Except, of course, perhaps wrapped in Ren’s arms, Ren curling protectively around him, hearing Ren’s heartbeat and savoring the sound.)

He feels fluttering at the edges of his mind and welcomes it. For the most part he ignores Ren’s meddling, focusing instead on the fruitless battle before him. Time is immeasurable in the heat of it and Hux is unsure how long he’s been killing – the fatigue that seeps into him is nostalgic and expected. However, even with Ren boosting him through their bond, lending Hux his strength, he is too far away. 

After all, Hux has never gone into a fight knowing with utter certainty that his death was imminent, and nor had he ever fought in all of Ren’s robes and armor.

And even in the best circumstances, fatigue is a powerful adversary.

In the end, Hux isn’t all that surprised when he twists around to block a blaster bolt and misses.

(His right arm can’t move fast enough in the robes and and _and - )_

 _Oh,_ he thinks, before the pain rips through him and before time catches up with him. _I knew I should have worn these robes a little looser. Having your armor restrict your movement is such a paltry cause for death._

The saber drops from his hand, and he vaguely registers the dull _thud_ of it hitting the hard-packed dirt beneath his feet.

Then the pain rips through him. He gasps and the movement jars him, white stars appearing in his vision, the white-hot pain driving him to his knees. He curls into himself, pressing his hands deeply into the hole in his abdomen even as his entire being rejects the action. Blood wells up in his throat and he coughs, sputtering, hands scrabbling at the helmet’s lock and ripping it off. The action unbalances him and as he fights for breath he falls onto his shoulder, rolling onto his back before settling onto the blood-soaked ground. He sucks in a ragged breath through gritted teeth, snarling silently at the bright, cloudless blue sky above him.

Someone - a Rebel, he thinks - kicks him and the scream gurgles in his throat. He keeps it there, forces himself to breathe, and instead shouts his pain into his mind, yelling every curse in every language he can remember. Vaguely, distantly, he can feel a presence in his head but the agony is too sharp, too blinding for him to focus on it.

Instead, his thoughts turn to Ren. Through the haze in his mind he reaches for Ren, searching desperately for any means of escaping the pain. But the Bond is dimming and even as he grasps for it, it eludes him. 

There’s a flash of regret – Ren will feel his death. He knows this as he knew he would die and though he’s made a tentative peace with it all there is a small, miniscule part of him that only Ren is ever allowed to see, calling for help. He screams for it, reaches and reaches and _reaches_ into his mind (and somewhere else, somewhere turbulent as a river and deep as an ocean) for help. That part of him is desperate for Ren, desperate for one of his utterly insane last-minute rescues. But there is that feeling in his bones, in his soul, that he will die and Hux has never been one to turn away from harsh truths. 

Hands on his shoulders startle him out of his reverie and he reacts blindly, throwing a punch at the blurry shape in front of him until he recognizes it. The Stormtrooper yells something in his ear but before Hux has a chance to decipher it he’s being helped to his feet. Distantly he hears himself cry out and the coldness that had spread through him dissipated with a burst of agony. His vision blacks out and his knees fold beneath him and there is pain and and _and –_

**_Hux!_ ** ****

The mental cry jerks him back to consciousness. The sun is in his eyes.

“General Hux, sir, can you walk? I need to get you to the medical tents. General, sir, can you hear me?”

He’s leaning heavily on the Stormtrooper. Sounds of battle filter through the fog. Sweat drips into his left eye. There’s copper on his tongue. Colors blur and he fights for balance, forcing his knees to bear his weight.

**_I’m coming, Hux, just stay alive._ **

Hux blinks, breathing through his nose. He sways as a wave of dizziness washes over him but Ren is _there,_ in his mind, imposing as ever, taking on as much pain as he can and giving Hux as much strength as he can manage with a strained, thinning bond.

His body moves of his own accord, senses warning him of the blaster shot. Somehow he lurches away from the helping Stormtrooper, watching in a daze as the Stormtrooper falls to the ground, a hole in their chest.

Cold, adrenaline-inducing terror washes over him and he blinks, shaking his head against the agony attempting to overcome him. He grinds his teeth together, snarling, and holds his head high as a familiar figure approaches.

 ** _Hux, no! Run!_**  

There’s panic sharpening Ren’s mental voice and though it’s jarring Hux pushes Ren away, erecting heavy, durasteel mental walls.

(And Ren is begging, _pleading_ with Hux as the barriers rise, desperate and hoarse. Hux has done many, many cruel things in his life, but he won’t subject Ren to this. He will protect Ren as much as he can, the last, final act of love he can give.

It’s not enough. But it will do.)

“General Hux?”

He smiles at the man, baring his teeth. “FN-2187. Lovely to see you again. How are the Rebels treating a traitor such as yourself?”

The traitor doesn’t rise to the bait, but he straightens up a bit, his expression hardening. “General Hux of the First Order, I hereby accept your immediate surrender to General Organa.”

Hux almost laughs. “I refuse.”

FN-2187 glares at him. “General, you can come with me or you can die. Those are your only options.”

“Then you’ll have to kill me.”

“The First Order is _gone_. There is _nothing_ left for you to stand up for. It’s over.”

“ _I am the Order!”_ he spits. “Do you honestly think Snoke gives a single fuck about the First Order? He’s using it just as Sidious used the Clones. _I_ am the Order. The Order doesn’t die until I do.”

Hux is trembling, both hands still pressed into his wound. Blood leaks from the corner of his mouth. Around him the battle rages, but the air is heavy with finality. Somewhere nearby one of his Stormtroopers detonates a grenade and the ground shudders beneath him, the vibrations racing up his near deadened legs. He can feel the heat of the blast as it washes over him, ruffling his hair and Ren’s robes. Bits of debris fly into him and a new cut forms on his cheek.

FN-2187 flinches but stands his ground, still a good few paces away. There’s an unlit lightsaber in his hand and a blaster in the other, and Hux wonders which one will take his life.

The traitor sighs again, brown eyes wide and searching. “It doesn’t have to end like this.”

Hux shakes his head, drawing in a painful breath. “You know as well as I that no matter what happens, I am going to die.” Hux cocks his head to the side. “I would have thought that you, enlightened as you now are, would understand the merits of mercy. Either I perish at the hands of a firing squad after a trial that will be utterly pointless or I die here, today, on this soil. If the ending is the same, what use is there postponing?”

Everything is quiet and his ears are ringing but he swears he can hear someone, some _thing,_ whispering sweet nothings in his ear. There’s something peaceful about it, something so familiar and long-forgotten.

FN-2187 hesitates for a moment before lifting the blaster and aiming for Hux’s chest. “I want you to know this isn’t out of revenge. This isn’t out of anger. You’ve put the entire galaxy through hell, but everyone deserves the chance to die the way they want, for something meaningful.”

Hux looks him in the eye. “I am the Order.”

FN-2187 nods. “Yes, you are.”

There’s a flash of light and another jolt of fiery-hot pain. He feels himself crumple to the ground, lungs heaving in a fruitless attempt at life. The walls of his mind give and he reaches blindly, searching for the bond and finding it, latching on to Ren’s presence before falling into oblivion.

When Hux takes his last breath, he is still snarling, defiant to the end. When he takes his last breath there is no comfort to be found in the certainty of it.

When General Armitage Hux takes his last breath, he is alone and scared and in agony. But he still dies. 

(There are no happy endings. There are just endings.)

  

*

  

Ren knows the color red more intimately than any other color. Red-rimmed eyes he knows like the back of his hand, along with the blotchy red that comes after a good cry. He knows the red in blood and how it darkens in the air, how it dries into a rusty brown. He knows bruised knuckles and cracked, split lips and the red of Starkiller’s first and final foray. He knows the crimson glow of his blade and its white-hot center and his own blood staining snow and –

Mostly, though, he knows the bright shade of Hux’s hair and of fresh-bitten ruby lips and of soft, apple colored blushes and bright, rose red fingertips because Hux bites his nails when he thinks no one is looking and Ren knows the color of soft amber freckles and –

Ren knows the color red.

The angry red, the fiery red, the red that blinds his vision when the Force is too strong to keep contained, the red that clouds his senses and bays at him – _that_ red he’s known since he was a young boy with a close-cropped haircut and a single braid that never grew past his chin.

It’s that red that borders his vision as he senses Hux donning his robes and armor. There’s a flash of warning in the Force and he meditates on it, feeling the way it curls around Hux before settling onto the redhead with a peculiar finality. He sneers in Hux’s general direction and stands, glaring at the walls of one of the small gymnasiums aboard the _Finalizer._

(That he didn’t immediately rush to Hux’s side, didn’t rescind his words from the earlier argument that led Hux to act like a martyr will forever haunt him.) 

The Dark surrounds him but there is still that ever-present glimpse of the Lights Side, growing stronger and more persistent with every minute spent in Hux’s company. 

(Though Hux doesn’t even have to be in the same room as him for the Light to gain strength. Just the thought of him, the feel of his mind whenever Ren brushes up against it is enough for the Light.)

Long ago, Snoke had told him that love was a powerful agent of the Dark Side and he, should he ever recognize it, harness its power. Why, then, is what he feels for Hux drawing him slowly but steadily into the Light?

The contrariness of the philosophies grates at him. There’s too much in his mind, too many thoughts of overthrowing Snoke, of leaving the Order altogether, and taking Hux to some far away planet and never stepping foot anywhere near this galaxy again. His love for Hux has led him down rebellious pathways before but never has the urge to throw everything he’s spent his entire life working for been so strong. He burns with it, Darkness swirling around him. His hands clench and unclench and he wishes for his saber. Destroying a droid might piss Hux off but it’d help him find his balance again.

Ren scowls and paces the length of the gym, ignoring a bumbling, insistent prod at his shields from Hux. A moment later he feels Hux exit his quarters and head to the docking bay, leaving without ceremony. Ren feels the bond stretch (but not break, _never_ break, and little _gods_ just the thought of it makes him want to scream) and the sensation rankles him. He shakes himself, his pacing morphing into a long-memorized kata. His hand feels empty without the reassuring weight of his lightsaber, but he would rather Hux have it now to protect him.

Closing his eyes, he focuses on the eddies of the Force, letting it wrap around him. Somewhere in the distance there’s an urgent pinprick of warning and the currents of the Force take him to it. Hux’s mind is razor sharp in the heat of battle and Ren can almost feel the hilt of his lightsaber in his hands. Ren wraps his mind around Hux’s but there’s too much distance for him to do anything other than move in sync with him.

Something in Ren eases as he mirrors Hux’s movements on the planet below. Hux fights defensively, drawing his attackers in before delivering death in a few precise blows. Had Ren not taught Hux how to use his saber, had he not been in that mind as they fought, settling into Hux’s fighting style would’ve taken longer. However, Ren sighs at the familiarity, moving his body with Hux’s, almost feeling the muddy, pockmarked ground beneath his feet. Their breaths match up and the Bond is glowing between them, a beacon of light in the ever encroaching darkness that hovers over the battlefield. The quiet hum of the _Finalizer_ ’s engines fades into the background as Ren delves deeper into the Bond, and he can hear the battle, can feel sweat on his neck, can just make out dim, hazy shapes as he peers through Hux’s eyes.

A sharp warning trills through the Force and a second later Ren blocks a blaster bolt aimed for Hux’s heart, fury twisting his face. He brings the lightsaber down through a Rebel’s torso and twists, dodging an attack from behind. The Rebel’s weapon is a steel sword and Ren smirks as he toys with her before parrying and thrusting. The shock-slackened face makes him want to laugh but he forces it down.

His focus is so intent on Hux, so intent on warning him of blasts that come from behind him and enemies that linger on his periphery that he hardly notices anything other than the synch and the feel of Hux. They’re an island of tranquility amidst the turbulent, chaotic tides of the battle.

(He doesn’t notice the klaxon-like warning in the Force or the foreboding, final darkness that’s sunk its talons into Hux.) 

There’s so much distance.

The bond, stretched as it is, begins to strain and so Ren backs off. Any other time Ren would love to drive Hux to distraction, but there’s no place for it on a battlefield. He opts to languish in the bond, feeling the currents, allowing Hux to guide his movements. For a time it’s just Ren and Hux, the battle and the Force, the Dark and the Light.

It’s a dance they’ve known since they were young, a choreography ingrained into their very souls. Ren thinks that there’s no where else he’d rather be except physically on the battlefield with Hux, knowing with absolute certainty that nothing would get through his guard and harm the General.

But there’s so much distance.

Fatigue creeps into Ren’s limbs and he falters, the bond fluctuating between them. His lips curl and he grabs at the golden strings of light with his mind, entangling himself in them. He boosts Hux, funneling energy into the threads even as the Force again trembles warning around him. There’s a darkness inching its way up the strands from Hux’s end and the feel of it startles Ren. His limbs falter and the synch is _gone_ and his right arms seizes, hesitating as it moves through the block and there’s pain but it’s not his and Hux cries out and and _and –_

There is so. Much. Distance.

_“Hux!”_

His name rips its way out of Ren’s throat as he opens his eyes, his hands grasping at his abdomen. He feels Hux’s pain but it’s more detached than if it were his own, feels the spike of cold, numbing terror and the agony that replaces it. For a few moments he doesn’t breathe and the Force is silent, still, holding its breath with him as the shock of potentially losing Hux settles into him. Grey walls meet his gaze. 

His shields slam up on instinct. He is utterly alone in his mind, frigid in his shock, his ears ringing at the silence.

A flash of hope: It was a dream, it’s not happening, Hux is still asleep or stalking through the _Finalizer_ or trading caustic quips with Phasma or sharing tea with Mitaka or playing with Millicent but surely, _surely,_ that wasn’t Hux’s –

Pain claws at him, throbbing and sharp but in a distant, echoing way that pulls Ren from his reverie. With a gasp Ren opens his mind as far as it will go, grasping at the trembling, golden strands of the bond and wrapping them tight around his fingers. He runs for the doorway and grabs his cloak from where he’d dropped it on the floor minutes – _hours? –_ before. Faintly he feels his own anger at Hux waft from the garment as he throws it on and dashes for the docking bay. Disgust worms its way into his thoughts, morphing with his panic until it’s all he can do not to kill anyone in his way.

The loading bay is busy but Stormtroopers scramble out of the way, and though Ren doesn’t say a word the look on his face must be enough – the bay is cleared in record time and he’s in space before he registers that he’s moved from the gym at all. He trembles uncontrollably, but whether it’s his body or his Force essence rioting against him he can’t quite tell. He’s cold and numb but his hands are steady on the controls and safely snared in the threads of the bond.

There is no memory of take off, but as he enters the planet’s atmosphere agony ripples through him and he grits his teeth against a cry of pain. Some of Hux’s threads slip through his fingers and an inarticulate cry escapes him.

The shuttle lands. The threads go limp. 

**_Hux!_ **

Icy, duracrete fingers strangle his heart when he feels Hux jerk back to consciousness. The bond pulses between them, thrumming with urgency, and Ren can taste blood on his tongue. His legs feel weak and he’s panting, gasping for air as though he’s the one injured, not Hux.

He sends comfort down the bond, funneling as much energy and love as he can muster into the thinning strands. He anchors Hux’s mind to his, pulling at rapidly fading strings and tying Hux’s fiery red life-force to his own darker one.

(But his fingers are too clumsy and there’s so much panic and fear and outrage and the Force is singing a dark, haunting melody in his ears and and _and –)_

**_I’m coming, Hux, just stay alive._ **

The Force has never been so welcoming to him. It answers his call before he has to beckon for it, wrapping around him like a blanket. He doesn’t bother to focus on the Dark Side – rather, he takes what it’ll give him and Force shoves Stormtroopers and Rebels alike out of his way. He doesn’t have to think for the Force to do what he wants and he’s running, barreling across the battlefield, leaping over bodies and the dying. He leeches what energy he can from them, gathering it and forcing it down the bond as cold, adrenaline-inducing terror washes over him. 

Ren reaches through the bond and panic shoots through him.

The scavenger. The traitor. They’re here, and close.

And Hux is defenseless and alone.

He pushes himself faster as he feels grim determination well up in Hux. The fingers around his heart tighten their grip, and he can’t hold back the panic lacing his mental voice.

**_Hux, no! Run!_ **

But there are some things that no one can stop - not Darth Vader before him and certainly not the Leader of the Knights of Ren. 

(there is so much distance)

Hux raises his mental barriers and the strings in Ren’s fingers are wrenched from his grasp, leaving him reeling. He falters, slowing, the Force around him still and frigid in his shock. Eyes burning, lungs stuttering, he throws himself into the fading, breaking bond, forcing the words from his mouth as though speaking them aloud will somehow allow his voice to cover the distance between Hux and himself. 

**_Hux don’t do this, don’t do this, please Hux, I’m almost there, I’m almost there, I –_ **

“-need a little more time, please just hold on, don’t shut me out, don’t –”

Tears fall from his eyes and he chokes on a sob, mentally clawing at Hux’s walls, hoarse in his pleas and _I don’t understand why can’t I break them why can’t I get to him whywhy **why –**_

He starts running again, pushing himself as fast as he can go, furious terror spurring him on. He’s so close, so _fucking_ close and his eyes flit wildly across the field, desperate for a flash of that familiar ginger hair and – 

He spots Hux as another burst of agony rushes through him and –

The Dark Side ripples around him, in him, with such a deep, tremendous rage that he is shaking with it, screaming with it, nearly overwhelmed by it and –

Hux’s walls crumble and he reaches for Ren and –

Ren reaches back, gripping onto those mental fingers with every ounce of strength and –

_please don’t leave me alone please Hux I love you I love you I **love** you HuxHux **Hux –**_

Hux’s mental fingers slip from his.

Ren falls to his knees, hands automatically pressing into Hux’s abdominal wound and Hux’s presence is still _there,_ still able to be called back and -

(But the Dark Side can’t heal without causing more pain and he hesitates, damn him, he _hesitates_ and -)

Hux’s presence disappears.

Ren sits back on his heels and gapes at the blood-drenched body before him. He receives one last impression from Hux: loneliness. Agony. Terror. And a thick, bright thread of love, light and soft like a feather against his mind. 

And Ren is alone.

The bond breaks and rips itself apart, imploding itself and having no mercy for Ren. He folds himself in half, forehead resting on his bloodied hands, as the white-hot pain tears through him. His stomach roils and his breath comes in shallow gasps. There’s no stopping the pain-laced screams that claw their way through a choking throat and gritted teeth and snarling lips. 

(In the midst of the maelstrom a small part of him urges him to bring Hux back – Darth Plageius did it, and though Darth Vader failed who’s to say Kylo Ren will?

He’s always been selfish, he knows.)

Ren gathers the pain in himself and throws it into Hux’s body, channeling both sides of the Force. It burns him – his fingers, his hands, his arms – but he keeps at it.

 _“Hux,”_ he rasps, moving his hands from Hux’s abdomen to his heart and leaning in, as though he could bring Hux back by the weight of his desperation alone. “Hux, you asshole, _come back._ ”

But he’s weak from the synch, weak from the battle, weak from having half of his soul so callously ripped from him. The Force eventually evades him, refusing to answer his call. The silence is ringing - both physically and mentally. The severed strands of the bond are agony to touch, and Ren feels like a raw nerve, like a cracked cyber crystal. He moves slowly, brushing his burnt fingertips over Hux’s pale lips.

Carefully, he gathers Hux to his chest and holds him close. He buries his nose into bloodied, dirtied hair and runs his palm over a cut cheek. He curls around Hux, holding him tighter than he’s ever dared and closes his eyes, desperately forcing away the image of Hux’s pale, sightless blue eyes and his hollow, triumphant snarl. 

Dimly, he’s aware of the nova-bright Force presences of the traitor and the scavenger. They’re close, but not terribly so, and it’s easy to ignore them in favor of remembering Hux’s soft smile, his warmth, his touch, his – 

“Ben?”

He flinches, curling tighter into Hux, closing his eyes tight enough to hurt.

 _Don’t,_ he thinks, _Force, let me grieve, can’t you see I’ve just lost everything?_

A smaller, quieter part of him whimpers again and again: _Hux, please, come back._

“Ben.” Sharp. Flat.

Numbly, he opens his eyes and stares across the bloodied, torn landscape. The setting sun turns the sky molten, casting long shadows on the dead. Instinctively, he reaches out with the Force but the pain of it is too much and a moment later he relents, breathing out against Hux’s hair.

Snoke told him, long ago, that love would lead to the Dark Side. Ren had figured Snoke to be right – after all, it was love for his grandmother that turned Anakin Skywalker. So he went after Hux, loved him with his body and his mind and entwined them until there were times he didn’t know where he ended and Hux began. But with every thread added to the bond the call of the Light grew stronger, grew softer, and the pull was undeniable.   

Ren wonders for a moment if this is the cost of the Light: death of the one held dearest. Death of the ideals held closest to the heart. The annihilation of every dream he’d ever imagined in one fell swoop. A bitter laugh bubbles in his chest but doesn’t rise, can’t fill up the emptiness within him enough to even threaten escape.

Perhaps this agony is not only the cost of the Light, but also the cost of being named after Obi-Wan Kenobi. Anakin Skywalker was so full of love he turned; Obi-Wan Kenobi was so full of love it reached in and hollowed him out, forsook him, and left him to his loneliness on Tatooine, destined to watch over the son of his greatest friend and bitterest betrayer.

Ren wants to scream at the uncertainty of it all. Light versus Dark, each with bitter costs, each demanding dominance.

He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he mouths, too drained to use his voice.

**_It doesn’t matter. You’re dead._ **

When the thought hits him he gasps, eyes burning anew. _Hux’s death is on my hands,_ he thinks, and he’s trembling again, gritting his teeth against the rising tide of furious despair. _That argument drove him to wear my robes, which made him the highest level target, all because I couldn’t keep my fucking mouth shut, all because of me, he’s dead because of me and –_

His knuckles ache with how hard he’s holding Hux’s body. Snarling, anger bubbling under his skin, he presses a hand deep into the blaster wound closest to Hux’s heart and –

_-there’s blood on his tongue and his entire body is nothing but pain and there’s something pressing against his shields and –_

_-FN-2187 stands before him with a blaster aimed at his chest and –_

_-“I am the Order” and “Yes, you are” and –_

_-another blast of pain, darkness, **Ren,** and – _

Around him the Force flares to life and he registers movement at the edge of his vision.

“You killed him,” he says, voice low but muffled. Lifting his head, he turns to face the scavenger and the traitor, both staring at him in pity.

“ _You_ ,” he snarls, and though it takes more concentration than before the Force is at his call and he summons his lightsaber, ignoring the pain in his burnt hands. For a moment, he can feel Hux’s hand overlap his but the sensation is gone, overwhelmed by the churning fury in the pit of his stomach.

Ren knows red. He knows the bright shade of Hux’s hair and of fresh-bitten ruby lips and of soft, apple colored blushes and bright, rose red fingertips because Hux bites his nails when he thinks no one is looking and Ren knows the color of soft amber freckles and –

Mostly, though, he knows the red haze that drops over his vision and calls forth the monster within, the red that signals the Dark to his side and bids him to draw blood.

The traitor – _Hux’s killer –_ steps into view, the scavenger at his side.

Ren breathes, stands, and grabs hold of the memory of Hux’s eyes, using as a pinpoint of calm in the roiling storm within.

He’ll join Hux soon. But there’s one last thing to do, one last battle to be fought.

Ren turns on his saber, his voice both hollow and full. “I’ll kill you." 

He leaps forward.

  

*

 

Rey blocks Ren’s shoulder strike with a grunt and thinks to herself _I’ve been here before._ Ben moves again, lighting fast, and as she blocks another blow she can almost feel the frigid air from Starkiller brushing her skin, can taste echoes of fiery, determined desperation on the back of her tongue.

(And for a moment she loses herself in the memory and the old terror paralyzes her and the red saber is too close and -)

Finn is at her side in an instant, golden saber joining her blue one, allowing her a second to regroup before Ben pushes forward, Force shoving Finn away. Rey can’t spare a moment of worry for Finn – Ben is on her, snarling, each stroke devastating in its power. Again and again they trade blows, and there’s a peculiar sense of familiarity to the dance, as though she’s done this before but with a heavier heart and tears in her eyes.

She backs away from him and he pauses, panting. The Force trembles with his exhaustion, his agony, his grief, and she winces at the torrent of it, raising her shields.

(The Force itself feels raw, exposed like a nerve from the aftermath of the battle and the influx of death presses down on her shields like a stone on her chest.

Rey had known this would happen, had felt it like a burr in her boot or the quick, durasteel-hard grasp of the quicksand fields on Jakku. Once caught there was very little chance of escaping, almost no hope of deviating from the path unknowingly chosen.)

Finn attacks from the side, saber aiming for Ben’s hip where long ago Chewy’s bolt had hit. Ben blocks, twirling, bringing all his weight down onto Finn’s saber and they’re locked, glaring at each other, the Force bubbling around them.

Finn shifts his weight and kicks at Ben’s knee and the resulting _crack_ is loud in the mostly quiet field. Ben stumbles away, leaning heavily on his right leg. Finn moves back, sheathing his saber and reaching for his blaster.

“Ben, please, don’t do this,” she doesn’t hide the plea in her voice. There’s a small part of her that cares for him because she loves Leia, and Leia still loves her son, had asked her to bring Ben home if she could. Even Luke, though doubtful, had told her that if it were possible she should try to bring him home.

He shakes his head but before he can say anything he pivots, blocking a blaster bolt. Finn comes up to stand beside her as Ben evades the bolts. He does so haphazardly, barely lifting his saber, and one grazes his shoulder and when Finn stops he doesn’t attack.

Finn sighs. “He wanted me to do it, Ben.” There’s a hardness to his voice that sets her on edge, but she can’t blame him for it, can’t blame him when she sees the blank look rising in his eyes even after all these months.

Rey tenses as the Force around them seethes and Ben’s snarl becomes more pronounced, the scar bisecting his face adding a certain madness to his countenance.

“You,” he spits, “think you’re so high and mighty now that you’re fighting on the right side.” Ben steps forward. “Didn’t you ever think that maybe we thought we were right too?”

Finn shakes his head, aiming his blaster at Ben’s head. “This isn’t the time for a morality lesson, least of all from you. Kylo Ren of the Knights of Ren and the First Order, I hereby accept your immediate surrender to the Resistance and to General Organa.”

 “You’ll have to do better than that,” he snarls, lazily swinging the red saber, tip scouring the ground in front of him.

Finn shakes his head, Force taut around him, unmoving from his stance. “Ben –”

 _“Stop calling me that!”_ Ben roars, body trembling, Force whipping out and grabbing Finn by the throat.

Rey is at Ben’s throat in an instant, blue saber a shade too close to his skin. “Put him down,” she says through her teeth, voice low. She reaches with the Force and fights him, slowly but surely releasing Finn from his grasp. Behind her, she hears him choke and her saber moves a fraction of an inch closer to Ben’s exposed neck.

He grins at her, eyes glinting. His saber is aimed at her abdomen, she knows – can feel the small pinpoint of heat like a brand across her skin. She holds steady.

“Go ahead,” he says, “kill me. Do it.”

She thinks of Leia, of Luke. She thinks of her promise to try to bring their only other relative home. She thinks that perhaps there are some people who are never meant to be saved, who are only meant to glimpse redemption, to have the possibility of it in their hands before they turn away. _Maybe,_ she thinks, _it’s better to have tasted the thought of it rather than face the reality of it._

She thinks of Han and how he died attempting to make good on his promise.

“You still have a home, you know,” Rey says, wrapping her Force presence around Finn to allow him air. “Leia still –”

Finn grunts and she grits her teeth against the burn on her abdomen.

“Don’t mention her. Wouldn’t want something terrible to happen to the traitor, would you?” Ben’s smile is sharp edged and feral, and her heart seizes in her chest because she knows that look, knows it like she knows the wastes of Jakku.

“Oh _Ben,_ ” she breathes, “you loved him, didn’t you?”

Ben’s Force grip on Finn wavers and Rey takes advantage, fully shielding Finn and lowering him to the ground. But she keeps her saber on Ben’s throat and holds his gaze.

(Maz once told her that if you live long enough, you see the same eyes in different people. Rey knows she hasn’t lived long enough but maybe she’s lived just long enough because she’s seen that look in only one other person.) 

She closes her eyes and steadies herself. Something deep within her sighs and her muscles relax an infinitesimal amount. She sends a quick apology through the Force to Leia, because she’s seen these eyes and she’s felt this agony before – maybe not on the same person, but even she knows what it means when they’re seen together in one being.

She knows this like she knows the unending days of Jakku, like she knows how to fly anything she with a cockpit, like she knows how to scavenge. Ben will die.

And she will kill him.

Rey opens her eyes and mind to the Force allowing it to wash over her like a balm. It hurts, still resounding with the aftermath of the battle, but she weaves it in between Ben’s Force grip, prying him from Finn. She stares into Ben’s eyes as she moves her lightsaber another centimeter closer to his skin and his attention wavers. She hears a gasp and a thud and smiles to herself.

Finn’s presence in the Force is soft but strong, never wavering, and it moves towards her. 

“No, Finn,” she says, and he pauses. “There are thousands of wounded – go help them.”

“I’m not leaving you,” he says.

Warmth blooms in her chest but she pushes it down. She hates manipulating him, she does, but this is something she must do alone, just as Finn had taken on Hux alone.

“I need you to check on Jess for me – I know she’s hurt and I need someone I can trust to make sure she’s okay.”

Finn’s hesitance is palpable, but after a few moments he relents. As he leaves she feels his mind against hers, warm like the Jakku sun, reassuring and unmoving, before he slips away.

Ben’s saber twitches and she grits her teeth against the burn, attention back on him. He bares his teeth.

“You shouldn’t have done that. I was really looking forward to killing him,” Ben says. “But I suppose you’ll do.”

She moves before he can run her through with his lightsaber, using the Force to enhance her speed. He throws himself at her, her saber meeting his strike for strike. Her arms tremble with the force of his blows but her defense is impenetrable and so she meets his every attack head on.

(It’s as though she’s dancing to a rhythm that’s been played before. These steps have been taken by different feet on a different planet at a different time, but there’s a familiarity to it all that she attributes to the Force.)

Though his attacks are heavy his defense isn’t and so she’s able to slip through, saber aiming for his heart. Somehow he blocks it and Force pushes her away.

“No,” he says, “you’ll kill me slowly or not at all.”

She shakes her head. “If you’re going to force me to be your executioner I’ll kill you in whatever way I want.” She sighs. “You’ve done a lot of things, Ben, but you didn’t kill Hux. It wasn’t your fault.”

He screams and rushes her, and she raises her saber to defend herself. She meets his eyes just as surprise flickers across them and his knee gives out from under him.

Rey had known this would happen, had felt it like the burn of touching metal during the hottest part of the Jakku day. She’d felt it with a certainty that had slipped into her veins and never left. So, when she pulls her saber up to black Ben’s wayward strike, she’s not surprised that there’s no time for him to block it.

He lands on her saber and dies in moments. 

She turns her lightsaber off and he drops to the ground with a hollow thump. In the Force she can feel his death, can feel the echoing wave of grief and relief from Leia light-years away.

The sun has set. She breathes in the stench of burnt flesh and sweat and the Force settles around her, more peaceful than it had ever been.

**Author's Note:**

> title is from that Imagine Dragons' Ready Aim Fire
> 
> okay i've worked on this fic for nearly 6 months and got tired of it being in my files so i just sorta slapped on an ending


End file.
